A Locanian having plucked all the feathers off from a nightingale
and seeing what a little body it had, read more

A Locanian having plucked all the feathers off from a nightingale
and seeing what a little body it had, "surely," quoth he, "thou
art all voice and nothing else." (Vox et praeterea nibil.)

I thank you for your voices, thank you!
Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,
read more

I thank you for your voices, thank you!
Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices,
I have no further with you.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

Two voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in read more

The voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.

It is the still small voice that the soul heeds; not the deafening blasts of doom.

It is the still small voice that the soul heeds; not the deafening blasts of doom.

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with read more

Her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.

The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear read more

The voice of conscience is so delicate that it is easy to stifle it; but it is also so clear that it is impossible to mistake it.

The voice is nothing but beaten air.
[Lat., Vox nihil aliud quam ictus aer.]

The voice is nothing but beaten air.
[Lat., Vox nihil aliud quam ictus aer.]

Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.

Her voice changed like a bird's:
There grew more of the music, and less of the words.